At Christmastime my playmates would concoct elaborate plans to catch old St. Nick in the act, and bust that jolly man.
rain and drought am i sunlit vale and shadowed glen all and none collide
Inspired by the 4am/4pm poems Rachel Welcher penned in her breathtaking collection, Two Funerals Then Easter. In her Lenten book club, she challenged us to write our own version of these poems. Here they are. 4PM At 4 pm, I ordered you and your school-day energy out of the door.
Originally posted on Laura Kauffman:
Watch: it always comes right when you expect it least. The light slants, enchants; your spirit, wakening, hums and rouses the sleeping beast.
It strikes me now as I sit down to write some ill-tempered thoughts about motivation that blood is dripping from my knuckles
This poem was born as a note roughly scribbled in a notebook. I wrote it from deep in the Black Hills of South Dakota, as I drank coffee on the porch and marveled at how loud the silence was. i close the door and exhale
pour out liquid words
Perhaps it was the way I sat there – hands alert over laptop keys as birds welcomed in the first morning light – that finally drove inspiration away.
Wildly, the rooted dandelion throws itself to the waiting wind.
I sang the Magnificat over the garden. It died anyway. He has not forgotten.